


Made of Scars

by eshtenirwins



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eshtenirwins/pseuds/eshtenirwins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Sciles Reverse Bang with autheane's wonderful artwork :)</p>
<p>"It’s just that Stiles is as good as transparent when it comes to hiding things from Scott, because Scott has werewolf powers and dumb animal senses, and he is unyielding.  He refuses to let Stiles ache."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made of Scars

Time is a funny thing.  It has a way of changing and mending; a way of creating.  It allows pain to fade, healing even the deepest wound until only a scar remains in its place.  Stiles can tell that Scott’s working on it.  Every day he walks just slightly taller, smiles a little bit brighter.  Every day Stiles actually believes more and more that he’s genuinely starting to feel happy again.  Scott’s emotional wounds are healing, probably just enough to abate the pain, and Stiles keeps a watchful eye on him.  He doesn’t push, allows him space when he needs it, but more often than not he’s right there by Scott’s side.  He’s a shoulder to cry on, an anchor amongst Scott’s crashing waves. 

 

Stiles thinks about it a lot.  The nogitsune is gone and the nightmares have stopped, but he realizes now that was the easy part.  The repercussions will never be undone, and he has to live with them forever.  He couldn’t stop a friend from dying, can’t take away the sorrow that his best friend is feeling now.  There’s an ache in his chest that he can’t seem to shake, and Scott knows.  Stiles tries to cover it up, tries to pretend that he’s okay too because really—isn’t Scott going through enough without worrying about him on top of everything else? 

 

It’s just that Stiles is as good as transparent when it comes to hiding things from Scott, because Scott has werewolf powers and dumb animal senses, and he is unyielding.  He refuses to let Stiles ache.  They’re all grieving, all mourning a terrible loss while attempting to muddle through, but Scott never allows Stiles to dwell—at least not alone.  Absolutely never alone.

 

It’s the first night following Allison’s death that Scott shows up at the doorway of Stiles’ bedroom.  His eyes are red from crying and he looks hollow in a way that Stiles has never seen before.  Stiles is at his side in an instant, throwing his arms around Scott and pulling him in for a hug that feels like home.

 

Neither of them says a word, falling asleep beside one another in Stiles’ bed.

 

Stiles is pretty sure that’s where it starts, with comforting words and the constant too-close proximity of his best friend.  With that inevitable gravitational pull towards someone you’d rather die for than bear to watch suffer.  It’s the safety and contentment of a best friend—a brother—someone who loves you unconditionally; through the fires of hell and back again. 

 

Sometimes, though, life doesn’t allow you time to heal.  Sometimes you’ve only just barely brushed yourself off before you’re thrown back into the fire.

\---

 

The room spins blearily around Stiles’ head as he slowly blinks his surroundings into focus.  He feels weak and disoriented, the cold concrete floor beneath him suddenly becoming apparent.  Gathering every bit of strength he can muster, he tries his best to pull himself up into a sitting position.  His arms falter weakly, but he manages. 

 

It’s dark but he can see as much as he needs to, which turns out to be not much of anything at all.  The walls are completely solid without so much as even a window to be found, causing an uncomfortable chill to shudder down Stiles’ spine.  The air feels cold and damp, and Stiles realizes his shirt is missing as the cool air hits his skin.  He winces as a sudden surge of pain begins to rip through his nerves.  His back feels like it’s burning as he reaches a hand around to try and find the source of the pain.  It feels nauseating, almost like his skin is sliced open and—oh my God, what the hell— is that blood?  He’s probably going to die here; like he’s _literally_ going to freaking die here.  And Jesus, why the hell can’t he remember?  He thinks as hard as he can to no avail as he feels the panic building within him rapidly, making his chest go tight in an instant.  _This cannot be happening again._

 

It’s then that he feels a familiar set of arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him back and anchoring him.  He doesn’t even wince, knows without missing a beat.

 

“ _Scott.”_

“I’m here,” Scott answers softly, his voice bringing instant comfort.  He lifts Stiles up from under his arms so they’re standing.  Stiles stumbles weakly, but Scott holds him steady.  “Stiles, I’m here. It’s me, it’s just me. You’re okay.”

 

With Stiles’ arm draped over Scott’s shoulder for support, Scott helps walk him over to stand beside the wall.  Stiles sets his hands against the concrete, trying to find his balance as Scott holds a hand against his back, careful not to brush too roughly over his open wounds.  The searing pain starts to fade again, and it only takes Stiles a short moment to realize that Scott is taking his pain.  He wants to pull away, protest, _anything_ because this is not Scott’s problem—it’s not Scott’s pain to take—but he further slumps against Scott’s chest instead, feeling too defeated and exhausted to fight against anything at all.

 

Scott takes his pain until he’s numb from it, and Stiles can’t quite remember when, but he’s pretty sure he passes out shortly after.

 

\---

 

When Stiles wakes up againit’s in the comfort of his own bed.  He opens his eyes to find Scott watching him carefully, a relieved smile appearing on his face when he sees that Stiles is finally awake.

 

"How're you feeling?" Scott asks carefully, taking a seat at the edge of Stiles' bed.  Stiles doesn’t answer, mind buzzing with a million questions.  Where had he been before and how did Scott find him?  How had he _gotten_ there?

 

“What the hell happened to me, Scott?”  Stiles’ voice breaks, desperate for answers.  “I thought this was over, I thought _we_ freaking ended—“

 

“Stiles, stop.  It wasn’t the nogitsune,” Scott cuts him off knowingly, shaking his head and trying to get him to listen.  “It was a hunter.  A hunter who had seen you— er, seen the nogitsune _as_ you and kept on your trail.  They thought you were a monster.”

 

Stiles is quiet for a moment after that, staring blankly at the ground with heavily lidded eyes and an even heavier weight bearing against his heart.  He lets Scott’s words sink in, an uneasy feeling swirling around in the pit of his stomach.

 

“You okay?” Scott asks after Stiles remains silent for a few more moments.

 

“Oh, I’m just fantastic,” Stiles sighs.  “A hunter—a _human?_   This town has been overrun by werewolves, kanimas, darachs and nogitsunes; but I end up kidnapped with gashes on my back from an actual human being?  You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me.  And you—how did you find me?”

 

“I followed your scent to—I don’t know where?  Some kind of underground warehouse I guess.  God only knows what they’ve captured and tortured down there.  It wasn’t easy since it was underground and the entire room they had you in was built in cement,” Scott explains.  “But I know your scent, and I managed.  They had messed you up pretty bad.  Knocked you out, gave you something to forget.  They had a whip and knives—I think they used both.”

 

Stiles feels both stunned and disgusted.  He’s been through enough torture and possession to last a lifetime and yet somehow this feels the absolute worst.  This happened because another human being mistook him for a monster, and that’s one hell of a mix up.  The bitch of it is that Stiles figures he probably would have done the same thing.  If he had been on the outside—if he had witnessed the nogitsune causing harm to others, he’d have wanted to kill it too.  He’d have wanted to kill it even if it hid behind the face of another human.  He wonders then why he’s even alive to discuss this with Scott at all.

 

“How did you get me out?”  Stiles asks, looking over to meet Scott’s eyes.

 

“Um, well.  When I showed up you were already unconscious.  The hunters weren’t there anymore.  But _God_ you don’t know how hard it was to not hunt them down— when I saw you there, it took every ounce of self control I had.  I wanted to kill them, Stiles.  I swear to God I wanted to.”

 

Stiles smiles sadly, not missing the ache in his best friend’s voice.  He’s come so far in such a short period of time, but he’s still got the instinctual need to protect; to kill for his friends, his pack.  Stiles is nearly positive that Scott would kill for him if it came down to it.

 

“S’okay, buddy.  I’m okay.  You got me out, nobody got hurt.”

 

Scott frowns, gesturing towards Stiles’ back.  “You did.”

 

“I’m fine,” Stiles says, feeling Scott’s glare burning through him.  “Okay, I’m not completely fine.”

 

"Does it still hurt?" Scott knows without having to ask.  He's already taken so much, but if there's still pain to be felt Stiles knows he’ll take the rest of it too.  He would die before watching Stiles suffer, and there's an overwhelming ache in Stiles' chest at that realization.  Scott would rather hurt than let Stiles hurt.  Scott would rather die than let Stiles die.  Scott wouldn’t just kill for him—Scott would _die for him_ without a second thought.

 

"It's better," Stiles promises.  He has no choice besides honesty here; knows that Scott will feel his heart skip a beat if he lies.  "I swear it's getting better."

 

Scott reaches a hand around to his back, fingers tracing down his back through the material of his t-shirt.  “Just let me, okay?”

 

He can tell that Scott has already healed them considerably, although the stinging pain still lingers.  With extra care he thinks they may barely be visible, but imagines that the too-quick pulling off of a shirt or sudden rolling onto his back while asleep may be enough to send a sharp pain searing beneath the healing wounds.  Right now, though, he feels nothing but the comforting circles Scott is rubbing gently up and down his back.  Stiles tenses when Scott slides a hand under the back of his shirt until it brushes over the bare skin there, holding his breath as he feels a sudden burn slowly fade to a dull, barely-there ache.  He lets out a grateful sigh as Scott begins to alleviate his pain.

 

"Better still?" Scott questions, and Stiles doesn't miss it when Scott winces at the discomfort as Stiles' pain begins to course through his veins. 

 

"It's better," Stiles repeats, lifting his head to meet Scott's eyes.  He swears he can see his own pain within them.  "Stop, Scott.  Seriously, it's too much.  It's hurting you."

 

Scott shakes his head.  "I'm fine, it's fine."

 

"Wow," Stiles frowns. "It’s not fine, and that wasn't even remotely convincing."

 

Scott doesn't miss a beat.  "Well, maybe I’m not as good of a liar as you are."

 

"At least you admit it," Stiles shrugs, choosing to ignore the pointed comment.  "Some people are terrific at deception, others moonlight as werewolves."

 

Scott smiles.  "Together, a force to be reckoned with."

 

Stiles grins back, still pressed into Scott's space as he continues with soft, gentle touches up and down Stiles' back.  He closes his eyes, savors the feeling as the warmth of Scott's touch swirls against his skin.  Scott is no longer taking pain from Stiles, but he doesn't stop; doesn't move away.  There's a slight uneasiness in Stiles' belly as he realizes he doesn't really want him to.  Being with Scott means safety and comfort; being with Scott means home.

 

"Gonna fall asleep on me?" Scott asks, and Stiles' eyes flutter open.  He notices that the room has grown darker, illuminated only by the moonlight filtering in through his window. 

 

Stiles nods with a yawn, turning to face Scott with a sleepy grin.  Scott looks about as tired as Stiles feels.  He feels an urgency rush through him when he realizes Scott is about to leave, grabbing Scott's wrist and pulling him so they're both lying back on the bed.  Scott makes a grunting sound when he hits the mattress too hard, eyebrows raised expectantly.

 

"Stay here tonight?" Stiles asks anxiously, although it's not really intended to be a question. He holds his breath as he waits for an answer.  Why the hell is this suddenly such a big deal?

 

"Yeah," Scott answers reassuringly, looking at Stiles with slight curiosity.  "Yeah, of course."

 

Stiles feels Scott settle in beside him, shuffling a few times until he finds a comfy position.  It may not be the first time they've shared a bed, but it certainly _is_ the first time that Stiles feels his heart skip a beat for his best friend.

 

\---

 

It’s still dark outside when Stiles blearily opens his eyes.  He reaches for his phone, squinting at the bright light from the screen to read that it’s just after three o’clock in morning.  He settles back into his pillow, jolting up with a startled gasp when he feels Scott turn over in his sleep.  _Jesus Christ_ , he had freaking forgotten that Scott was there.  Stiles recovers from his minor heart attack just in time to feel Scott shuffling closer against his body, heat radiating from his sleeping form.  Stiles lays there for a few moments as his heart rate slowly returns to normal; is just on the edge of sleep when he feels Scott’s hand suddenly press against the small of his back, sliding up between his shoulder blades and resting over the array of scars.  Stiles feels the pain begin to fade again, wants to yell at Scott to stop taking it except— _God_ , it’s helping so much and he’s honestly not sure that he wants him to stop at all.  If he stops, he’ll also probably move his hand away.  If he stops, he may decide to head home for the night.  If he stops, Stiles may not have another chance—

 

He’s not thinking clearly, obviously worn down with exhaustion.  At least that’s what he tells himself as he rolls his body over until he’s face to face with Scott.  He inches closer before grabbing Scott’s neck and pressing their lips together in one fervent motion.  It feels like a dream; as if nothing like this could ever _possibly_ be happening in real life.  Somehow that makes it okay.  There’s nothing to panic over or think about if this is only a dream.

 

When Scott starts kissing back, Stiles becomes more aware.  He realizes now that this actually feels nothing like a dream at all, because Scott is kissing slow but hard and he makes a desperate sound in the back of his throat that snaps Stiles into reality.  His eyes go wide and he pulls back in a panic, but Scott grabs the collar of his t-shirt to keep him close.  Stiles doesn’t know what to say, his brown eyes locked with Scott’s.

 

“I just kissed you,” he says stupidly.

 

Stiles knows that Scott can read him like a book; knows that he can probably can feel his heart racing.  It’s giving him away, and Stiles knows from the way Scott’s eyes soften and a small grin curls at the corners of his lips.

 

“Yeah—you did.  So can we, uh, do it again?” Scott asks, causing Stiles’ face to flush a deep crimson.  He’s pretty sure his heart is about to beat right out of his chest.  “Let me just try—“

 

Scott doesn’t wait for an okay.  He wraps his hands around Stiles’ neck and kisses him softly.  He starts with quick pecks, allows them to linger a second longer each time.  Stiles’ stomach flutters pleasantly, nerves buzzing beneath his skin.

 

Stiles can’t be sure at what point he started kissing back, just knows that his lips are parted and moving against Scott’s and Scott’s mouth feels so good and he just wants to drown in him.  Scott carefully slides a hand under the fabric of Stiles’ shirt again, and Stiles feels it instantly when Scott starts to drain him further of any pain.

 

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathes against Scott’s lips.  It’s a lot to take—he’s got Scott’s body against him with their mouths pressed together, and Scott is taking his pain and leaving behind nothing but good feelings and warmth and it’s almost too much.  He kisses back a little harder, stumbling down on top of Scott when Scott tries to pull him closer, their bodies flush together.

 

“Hi,” Scott chuckles.

 

 “Oh God, I’m sorry,” Stiles says apologetically.  He sets a hand at the nape of Scott’s neck softly as Scott watches him with a grin.

 

It’s kind of awkward without being awkward at all.  There’s an unquestionable spark between them; a mixture of desire and curiosity.  Stiles briefly wonders why they’ve waited so long to do this—whatever it is.  He wants to make another move, slightly hesitant and unsure of what is or isn’t okay.  He figures he’ll let Scott decide for him.

 

“Kiss me, Scott?”  Stiles asks him, watching as Scott lets out an anxious breath.  His stomach churns for one terrifying second while he waits for Scott’s response.

 

Scott doesn’t miss a beat; wrapping his arms around Stiles’ neck and pulling him back in for another kiss.  Stiles doesn’t think, doesn’t worry.  He almost forgets the pain completely as he allows himself to get lost in Scott’s comfort.

 

\---

 

The following morning, Stiles wakes up to waves of sunshine seeping in through his window curtains.

 

It’s not like it’s the first thought Stiles has when he wakes up that morning—except that it absolutely is.  He kissed Scott last night.  Scott kissed him back.  They kissed a _lot_.  He’s pretty sure that if he were in the exact same situation with anybody other than Scott his first instinct would probably be sheer panic.  This is different, though.  He thinks this could actually be okay.

 

Scott isn’t there anymore, but Stiles wasn’t really expecting him to be.  It’s a school day, although Stiles is on indefinite bed rest until Scott lets Melissa say otherwise.  His back feels okay.  Better than yesterday, but still stings unpleasantly as he throws a shirt over his head. 

 

Although he’s home from school, Stiles tries to go about his day as normally as possible.  He tries not to think about Scott’s lips brushing against his over and over and over again.  And he certainly tries not to think about how badly he wants to do it again.

 

Sitting down on the couch with a bagel, he begins flipping aimlessly through television channels in an attempt to find something to watch.  His phone buzzes on the cushion beside him.

 

_Scott: Are u awake?_

Stiles feels his heart jump in his chest, opening his and Scott’s messages and trying desperately to think of an answer.  He can’t believe how ridiculous he’s being—it’s _Scott_ for crying out loud.

 

_Stiles: Watching tv… what fun have I missed so far?_

It seems like a normal enough answer.  Something Stiles would have asked regardless, even if he hadn’t been attached to Scott’s lips the previous night.  He feels his stomach twist a bit tighter.

 

_Scott: lol, u have missed absolutely nothing._

And another second later—

 

_Scott: How are u feeling?_

Stiles contemplates this.  It could potentially be a very loaded question.  Physically he’s feeling pretty damn good, and far too good to match the wounds on his back.  He knows that he owes nearly all of that gratitude to Scott for taking as much pain as he did.  And God, he doesn’t know how he’d be handling it otherwise.

 

Mentally?  Well, that’s another story.

 

_Stiles: The pain isn’t bad… you’re a freaking lifesaver, you know_

He hesitates, heart beating fast as he types another message.

 

_Stiles: This is so dumb_

_Stiles: I can’t stop thinking about you…_

_Stiles: Did you happen to werewolf-love-drug me when you were messing with my pain levels?_

Stiles holds his breath while he waits for the next reply.

 

_Scott: oh no…. u figured out my plan :(_

_Scott: lol. Kidding… but yeah. You really can’t stop thinking about me?_

Stiles grins, gaining a bit of confidence as he continues typing back.

 

_Stiles: Well…._

_Stiles: I know I wouldn’t mind kissing you again right about now, buddy._

In retrospect, Stiles thinks he maybe should have expected Scott to charge through his door only moments after sending that text.  He jumps up, startled with his hand covering his heart as he tries to calm down.

 

“Dude, warn me next time?” Stiles shakes his head, catching his breath.

 

“You can’t just—“ Scott walks toward him, standing in front of him for a few awkward seconds while he appears to collect his thoughts.  “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

 

Stiles nods slowly, taking one step closer to Scott. 

 

“So,” Scott shrugs.

 

Stiles doesn't wait any longer as he wraps his arms around Scott’s neck and brings their lips together.  He’s not dragging this out anymore, and he doesn't care that this is maybe a bad idea.  All he cares about is Scott and how good this feels and how good Scott makes him feel.  And though he isn't certain where this new-found confidence is coming from, he’s pretty sure Scott is right there with him.

 

He certainly isn't protesting as Stiles grabs his waist and walks them backwards until the back of Scott’s knees hit the couch.  Scott sits down as Stiles follows, clambering on top of him and trying desperately not to break the kiss.

 

“Is this okay?” Scott pulls away, asking with slight hesitation in his voice.  “Can I—?  Are you—?”

 

Stiles groans dramatically, nearly positive that his eyes are alpha-red with how revved up he feels. 

 

"I swear to God, ask me if I'm okay one more time and I will punch you square in the side of your crooked jaw."

 

Scott looks into Stiles' eyes, an amused grin playing at the corner of his mouth.  Stiles half wishes that he could smack the smirk off of his face for good measure—the other half just wants to fucking kiss him so he can feel that stupid smile against his lips.  His head feels cloudy and jumbled, heavy with overwhelming and unprecedented desire for his best friend.

 

"I _was_ going to politely ask if I could get these off," Scott says, slipping a hand over the waistband of Stiles’ sweats.  He shrugs, "But maybe now I won't be so nice about it."

 

Stiles leans forward until his mouth is hovering just above Scott's, barely an inch apart.  He feels Scott's breath against his lips and it sends a shiver down his spine.  "I don’t need you to be polite, Scott.  And I sure as hell don't need you to be nice."

 

Scott nods slowly, calculating.  "Then tell me what you _do_ need."

 

Their eyes are locked on each other, and Stiles' stomach twists despite his feigned confidence.  Scott's hand glides back across the expanse of skin above Stiles' waistband, and Stiles grabs Scott's wrist to cease his teasing fingers.

 

"Paws off, buddy.  What kind of guy do you think I am?"  He aims for incredulous, though he knows he's hardly convincing.  He watches as Scott tries pathetically to hold back his smile.

 

"I've known you my whole life," Scott snatches his hand out of Stiles' grip with ease, placing a hand on each side of his slim waist and holding him steady on his lap.  "So, I mean.  I thinkI know exactly what kind of guy you are."

 

Stiles raises an eyebrow.  He scoots forward until his knees press back into the couch on either side of Scott's hips, waist flush against Scott's.  He focuses on steadying his shaking hands, trying to will his nerves to not fail him.  _This is Scott._  He repeats it over and over in his mind like a mantra.  _It's just Scott._

Stiles attempts to sound absent when he speaks, voice faltering only slightly.  "Oh, I don't know about that."

 

He slides his hands around Scott's neck, eyes darting down to his friend's mouth.  He inches closer, lips nearly touching Scott’s when he speaks in a hushed whisper.  "I have a feeling I might surprise you."

And with the sudden, firm pressure of Stiles' lips against Scott's, he does just that.

 

It's nothing like their previously shared kisses, all gentle and tentative.  This kiss is something different; something with relentless and unyielding purpose.  Stiles has his hands everywhere— one in Scott's hair while the other slides down, down, down; across Scott's neck and chest and torso until he slips it beneath his shirt.  Scott kisses back fervently, tongue slipping between Stiles' lips and— _yeah_ , that's certainly doing it for him.

 

“Scott—“

 

Stiles is cut off when Scott wiggles out from beneath him, moving so he’s hovering above Stiles on the couch.  He slides his shorts down around his ankles and helps Stiles kick his sweatpants aside, pressing his body back down against Stiles as soon as he’s got him at his mercy beneath him.  And fuck, Stiles could get used to this.

 

They stay pressed together, legs intertwined and hips grinding against one another desperately.  Scott’s hands run along Stiles’ arms as Stiles’ drags his nails down Scott’s back beneath his shirt.  They kiss, breathing and panting and moaning through one another until there’s nothing left but white-hot good feeling.  Stiles feels no pain, just the crushing weight and comfort of his best friend’s body against his.

 

Stiles isn’t sure how they were ever anything less than this.

 

\---

 

Time is a funny thing.

 

It has a way of changing things; a way of breaking, mending, creating.  Sometimes it even breaks again. It has a way of healing, and a way of lighting a spark within someone’s life.

 

With Scott beside Stiles, Stiles’ wounds have healed.  They've healed, leaving nothing but scars to remain in their place.  With Stiles and Scott beside one another, neither will ever be left to ache.  

 

Thinking back now, Stiles is sure that it could never have been any other way.  Scott is his rock, his anchor, his saving grace. 

 

When Scott smiles at him, Stiles knows.  His scars aren't shameful—they are constant reminds of what it means to be strong.  When Scott smiles at him, Stiles remembers how easy it is to find that strength.


End file.
